Stop the World, I Want Off
by Geniusgirl The Original
Summary: DISCONTINUED [PostHBP] As Draco Malfoy's world is violently jerked off its axis, he finds refuge and friendship in the most unlikely people and while they conspire to make his life bearable, he finds peace in and after the war. [Draco x Pansy]
1. Burden of the Son

**Post-HBP. **_If you haven't read that and I ruin it for you, don't say I didn't warn you._

**_Stop the World, I Want Off_**

**_Chapter 1: Burden of the Son_**

"Molly! Molly, where are you?"

Molly Weasley rushed from the kitchen, wand at the ready. Arthur's voice was ragged and urgent. In times like these, one was perpetually on guard. She stopped, gasping at the sight of her husband bent over, shivering and bleeding from a gash across his temple. Regaining control of her motor skills, she lurched forward, a healing charm already on her lips.

She blinked back tears. She had always known that this was a risk - from the time Dumbledore had asked them into the Order, she knew that her entire family had pledged their lives to the greater good. This was, however, the first time it had really come home - this war-worn state. As she moved closer, she realized that Arthur's wounds were worse than she had first perceived - he was bleeding beneath his robes. Yet somehow he stood, the simple action stopping her in her tracks.

"Arthur?" she ventured.

"I'm - I'm fine," he rasped. He caught his breath and looked her directly in the eyes. "Molly, can we take one more child?"

She said the only thing that came to her mind, "Do we really have a choice?"

Arthur, through all the blood and dirt on his face, managed a grim sort of grin. Turning, he threw a handful of Floo Powder into the grate and stuck his head through. Who or what was on the other side, Molly had no idea but her mind was otherwise occupied.

Who was it this time? What other family was lost? Which child's life was ruined this time? She could hardly bear it anymore. With her own children all battling Voldemort in their own way, she had from the beginning of the year been temporarily housing the few children that could be rescued from Death Eater attacks across the country until their relatives could be located. What those children had seen, what haunted their nightmares, Molly could only begin to imagine.

"He's on his way." Arthur said.

They watched, tense, as a madly spinning figure appeared in their fireplace and abruptly crumpled, unable even to step out of the grate. Molly's heart clenched. The boy, though tall, looked frail and exhausted. He was an awkward, pitiful pile of soiled robes, blood, bruises and unwashed blond hair.

She watched as Arthur reached forward, shifting the boy out of the fireplace and onto the rug. Stepping back to give his wife a good look at their new boarder, Arthur proclaimed tiredly, "This one's going to be staying with us for a while, Molly."

There was quiet groan, two bleary gray eyes opened and Draco Malfoy asked for water.

* * *

"Morning, Molly," Arthur murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before sinking into his chair at the head of the dining table. He glanced at the lone figure seated in the middle of the left row of chairs, back to the window. "Draco." 

"Sir."

Molly winced. It had been nearly three months since the young Malfoy had come to reside with them and though it had taken Arthur nearly three hours of explanation, Mrs Weasley had come to understand the situation. In a nutshell, Draco Malfoy had defected.

Though the details Arthur provided her with were sketchy at best, Molly surmised that Malfoy had somehow found a way to tip the Order off about an impending Death Eater attack and had made his move there. Drawing Harry away from the main body of the battle, Draco had thrown himself at the mercy of his worst enemy and Harry had – with all the nobility of a true hero – helped him. What Molly found most surprising was that Ron had been the one to suggest Draco board with the Weasleys.

That, at least, was the 'how' of the situation. The 'why', she supposed, was known only to those involved.

However, Molly had to admit that this Draco Malfoy was drastically different from the snotty twelve-year-old she had last seen in Flourish and Blotts and the snobbish fourteen-year-old she'd seen at the Quidditch World Cup. This Draco Malfoy was subdued. Lonely, despondent, insecure, quietly sullen, one could even go so far as to call him humble even. However, above all, this Draco Malfoy was absolutely terrified. Terrified of what he had done, what he could do, what he would have to do and what could be done to him.

And as much as Molly Weasley despised Lucius Malfoy, she couldn't help but pity the boy sitting in front of her. In her estimation, the sins of the father were _not_ the burden of the son. That Voldemort would stoop so low as to threaten a _child_ into doing his dirty work… it made Molly want to murder him herself. She fumed as she sipped her tea, her stare enough to make the gnomes in the backyard run for cover. The abrupt scrape of chairs against the floor jerked her from her ruminations.

She followed her husband to the door, intent on returning to clean the kitchen as a normal distraction from her state of constant worry. When she got back, however, she found a most extraordinary spectacle. Draco Malfoy was washing the dishes – without magic.

Unlike their other boarders, Molly had never requested any assistance from the young Malfoy. In fact, the liberties she had taken with other children – asking them about their families, asking them to help out around the house to keep them busy, holding them when they cried – had never crossed her mind around Draco.

She cleared her throat. "Draco, you needn't do that."

Obviously startled, he looked up. "I …simply thought to help, Mrs Weasley. My apologies."

He was already wiping his hands dry, the three cups and plates clean and dried. He turned to her and she watched an ancient young man, who wore only gray and never smiled, bow deeply before striding out of the room.

**TBC**

* * *

**Author's Note: **I started writing this for the LiveJournal Community, **30Kisses**, a while ago. I initially gave up my claim but I've been compelled to pick it up again. And to share because, really, I'm a review junkie. And, before you scream; No, this is not a Draco/Molly story. Molly just serves as an interesting perspective from which to launch the plot. 


	2. The Enemy of My Enemy

**_Stop the World, I Want Off_**

**_Chapter 2: The Enemy of My Enemy_**

There have been moments in the three months between Draco's arrival and Molly's decision that can explain exactly how Pansy Parkinson found herself seated on the Wealey's couch listening almost desperately to every word her hostess says. Molly will not tell Pansy about these moments because they are not hers to talk about nor will she inform the ex-Slytherin that she is acting on the advice of one Hermione Granger because, after all, Molly doesn't really know what sort of relationship those two have and she's not about to stick her nose where it does belong. At least, she's not sticking it in too deep.

What Molly does tell Ms. Parkinson is that the Order trusts her family. Despite being a Slytherin family, they have always fought for the right things. They are non-aligned but not without an obvious bias to the Light and, above all, their blood is not pure. It hasn't been for several centuries and that is quite enough to make them blood-traitors in You-Know-Who's eyes. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Having said that, Molly falls silent and stares through the window at the fog into which Draco disappeared this morning. Suddenly, she tells her guest that days like these are the worst because Draco does not stay in. Sometimes Molly thinks he wants to lose himself and, perhaps, fall victim to a bog. Unfortunately, she adds with a bitter smile, their area is rather bog-free.

Pansy nods, taking a demure sip of tea, and Molly sits back to study her. The effects of war are obvious even on this young girl who has not actually seen battle. She is not a stunning beauty but a face that could be considered pretty is marred by worry. Her clothing reflects the weather of late; dark gray and heavy. Not quite dressed for a funeral, she still looks like she is waiting for a death. What resonates most with Molly, though, is that under her eyes are the dark bags of a sleepless wife.

Sighing to herself, Molly rises from her chair and pours them each a fresh cup of tea, takes a biscuit and settles back into her chair. Pansy continues drinking, so very obviously on autopilot. When Molly is almost settled into the silence, her guest speaks. Pansy asks if Draco knows that she has been invited. Her nervousness informs Molly of secrets that separate, of promises and sacrifices made at an age too early. When Molly tells her Draco does not expect her, the tension that has been sucking the very breath out of the younger woman like a Dementor's Kiss lets up, if only for a moment.

"He told me not to look for him," Pansy says. _He meant I should not wait for him. _

"You didn't," Molly assures her. _But you were waiting. Now, at least, you have company._

They wait together, another unlikely pair forged by necessity and the unique circumstances of war, peering through the fog for any sign of the return of the boy who defected.

**TBC**

* * *

**Author's Note:** About the "sleepless wife" thing; No, they are not married. About the lack of dialogue; I was making a conscious effort to avoid it but, in the end, it got me anyway. 


	3. Waiting for a Boy

**_Stop the World, I Want Off_**

**_Chapter 3: Waiting for a Boy_**

Molly stared at the plates left on the drain-board from earlier that morning, concentrating on a small spot on the face of the one closest to her, wondering how that had gotten there. She had moved to the kitchen to start dinner, leaving her young guest in the living room to - well, as rude as it may seem, Pansy Parkinson had been left to entertain herself because, really, there was only so much time one could waste waiting for a boy who was bound to come home. Pansy hadn't minded when Molly excused herself and had taken up Molly's offer to make use of the book case. Last Molly knew the girl had curled into the cozy armchair by the fire with her nose in an old copy of _Vita Fata Morgana. _That was one of Draco's favorites, too.

Molly pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and closed her eyes. No matter how much magic helped to insulate the Burrow, something about the day and the chill seemed to penetrate even those barriers. Suddenly, Molly wondered how her children were. She usually reserved such musings for late at night; not that she could ever put her children (including Harry, Hermione and all the others she had cared for in the past seven months) out of her mind. Were they suffering the harsh winter weather? Shaking her head, she forced herself to stop thinking about it. She knew where paths like those lead, to tears of rage and helplessness and, really, that wasn't good for anybody.

_Where _was Draco? She fingered the edge of the kitchen curtain, looking out past the garden and into the distance where the Malfoy had disappeared. She spied a vaguely humanoid figure atop a hill not far away, unmoving. So that's where he'd gotten off to. She sighed; at least he was heading back now.

She looked down at her hands and then at the pots in the sink. Deciding against getting her hands wet in the chill, Molly flicked her wand at the dishes and turned out of the kitchen. In the living room, Pansy was in the process of turning the page when Molly walked in.

"He's on his way back," Molly stated. "He's stopped on his hill. It'll be ten minutes at the most."

Pansy nodded, sitting up but not primping the way Molly had expected. She simply straightened out her robes and pushed a flyaway wisp of hair behind her hair. _I suppose that means they won't kiss, _Molly thought to herself. But that really wasn't any of her business.

"Would you like some tea?" Molly asked, well aware of the fact that what was coming would be daunting for both teens.

"Yes, please." Pansy's voice was low. Molly got the distinct impression that the girl was desperate for any semblance of normalcy in such an utterly unprecedented situation. Molly didn't blame her, either. Turning on her heel, the Weasley matriarch marched back into the kitchen and spelled a pot of tea together.

Molly was sitting at the kitchen table studying the slight discoloration on the plate from that morning when the backdoor opened and Draco walked in. He took one look at the tray of tea, laden with his favorite cookies, and murmured without an ounce of pretense, "You shouldn't have, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's not for you," she told him. "There's a guest in the living room I think you'd be interested in seeing."

He began protesting, a little of his defiance from before rearing it's head. "I'm not inclined to-"

Molly leveled him with a look she'd developed specifically for Fred and George (and sometimes Arthur). "Take the tea into the living room, Draco."

He stared at her, his eyes blazing with fury because, underneath all of his disillusion and depression, he was still a Malfoy and he did not take orders. She stared levelly back at him until he caved and picked up the tray.

As his footsteps moved further down the hall, Molly turned back to that plate. _Really, what was that stain?_

**TBC**

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* * *

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**Author's Note: **I felt I was losing the essence of Draco in the first two chapters so I've sought to salvage a little bit of him here. Hopefully, we'll see more of him in the upcoming chapters.

_Vita Fata Morgana _- Roughly translated from the Latin, this means "Life of Morgaine Le Fey". To my knowledge (limited as it is of Mideval texts) this book does not actually exist, the title iscoined from_Vita Merlini_, which does exist.


End file.
